Free Bodies by Robert Barnard Page B

’as to. A fine body like that’s like a garden: a full-time occupation.”
    â€œHe hasn’t got a job?”
    â€œWhen would ’e find time to do a job? I earn enough to keep us both. An’ o’ course he gets a bit of pocket money from the odds and ends of modelling ’e does. There’s people as’ll pay good money for a picture of a body like my Denny’s!”
    â€œI’m sure there are. Who does he model for, mostly?”
    â€œOh, mostly that poor Bob Cordle from Bodies. My Denny’s been full-page spread in there more than once. In colour. We was both ever so upset at ’im being shot like that. My Denny said ’e was a lovely man. Salt of the earth, that’s what Denny said. I never sin ’im so upset at when ’e reads in the papers how ’e’d bin done in.”
    â€œCould Denny think of any reason for the killings?”
    â€œNo, ’e couldn’t. We talked it over, tea-time, when it was in the hevening papers. Went quite white under ’is tan, my Denny did, when ’e saw the ’eadlines. It was like Cordle was a sort of second father to ’im. My Denny was all sort of bewildered. ’E said ’e just couldn’t imagine ’oo could ’ave done it.”
    â€œDoes Denzil model for anyone else, apart from Cordle?”
    â€œOh yes, ’course ’e does. ’E’s got a sort of agent as gets ’im dates— and takes a commission on them.”
    â€œYou’ve no idea what sort of work this is, who the employers are?”
    â€œWell, it’s modelling, advertisements, that sort of thing. Though I’ve never seen my Denny on the telly. It’s been my dearest wish, and it’s never happened yet. ’E’d be marvellous advertising muesli, or one of them beef extract drinks, but ’e’s never done it yet. I blame the agent. ’E can’t be doing ’is job. I’d get on to ’im if I was Denny, but ’e’s too shy. Never likes pushing ’isself into the limelight, my Denny.”
    Which seemed a bit rich, considering that Denny was currently rippling his pectorals for the inhabitants of Aberdeen, and no doubt doing it under the bright lights.
    â€œDid Denny decide to go to Aberdeen before or after he heard of Bob Cordle’s death?”
    â€œAfter. ’E got up from the tea table and ’e phoned ’is agent, and they chewed it over for a bit and ’e decided to go up. ’E said there wasn’t any first-rate material going up there, and these provincials got a bit sore if there wasn’t anything but the local bodies everyone knew about. What’s it to you anyway?”
    This last question came out suddenly, and I realized that questions about my interest in her Denny must have been nagging for some time in the background of her mind.
    â€œActually I’m a police officer. I’m investigating the murders at the Bodies office.”
    She stood up in outrage, and snatched the half-full cup of tea from in front of me.
    â€œA bleedin’ pleece officer? Then I tell you what you’ve done, my lad, and that’s got in ’ere under false pretences.” (This was uncomfortably close to the truth. Trust a cockney to know her rights and to distrust the police force.) “By rights I ought to complain about you to higher up. ’Stead of which, you can just get out o’ my ’ouse this minute. Come on. Beat it.”
    I began a somewhat nervous and certainly undignified retreat.
    â€œWhat was your Denny doing on the night of the murders?”
    â€œThe bloomin’ idea! Trying to incinerate my Denny had anything to do with that! In ’is own ’ouse, too! He was ’ere. All bleedin’ day, ’e was ’ere. I can vouch for every minute, because you can ’ear ’is bleedin’ bumps when ’is weights ’it the floor o’ the attic. Right? Got it? Now get the